Out of all the specialties on the modern battlefield, none has the unique position in the hearts and minds of the other soldiers like the sniper.

Loved by his allies for his ability to change the tide of battle in their favor, or simply for making the enemy bury his head for a respite from the fire.

Hated by his enemies for lacking honor. Called a coward because he strikes from the shadows, never showing his face.

Hunted mercilessly and given no quarter when captured, only those with a steadfast determination can handle the task of a sniper.

To the sniper, he is a god amongst men when he is stalking his prey. When his enemy is in his sights, he chooses the exact moment the enemy shall perish.

This is what makes a sniper both a hero and a pariah on the battlefield. To succeed means a fellow soldier gets to live another day. To fail is to be executed and, if one is lucky, given a shallow grave.

Sergeant 1st Class Jason Sparks grunted quietly to himself as he surveyed the harsh mountain side across the valley from his nest.

“Not a damn bit of activity in the last three days. I think the spooks dropped the ball on this one.” He thought to himself as her carefully adjusted his position on the rocky surface he and his spotter Sergeant Dustin Sikes had been perched on while looking for insurgents moving weapons.

“Jazz, seen anything?” He asked his partner in crime.

“Not a damn thing Warlock. Think this whole trip was a waste of our time.” Sikes replied.

“You’re telling me.” Sparks replied with a grim smirk as he continued to survey the valley below through the optic on his rifle.

Sikes was about to reply when an explosion echoed down the valley below.

The two soldiers exchanged glances before turning their optics towards the column of smoke that was rising over the next ridge.

“The hell? Think one of the bastards blew himself up early?” Sikes muttered as he swept the area with his spotter’s optic.

“You mean he had a ‘premature detonation’? I think that only happens to you Jazz. I think we should at least-” Sparks said before being interrupted by automatic weapons fire.

“Okay, what the hell is going on? The Taliban shooting at each other?” Sikes asked incredulously.

“No. Listen to the sound of the heavy. That’s Mama Deuce.” Sparks replied.

Sikes closed his eyes and listened. Sure enough the distinctive thump-thump-thump of the Browning M2 .50 caliber Machine Gun was heard echoing through the valley, drowning out the sounds of the Third World favorite, the AK-47.

“Think it’s some of our guys?” Sikes asked.

“Gotta be. Jazz, pack up. We’re moving.” Sparks said as he began to prepare for the move to a better position.

“Seriously, Warlock? You know they said to sit tight here.” Sikes responded.

“I doubt they expected a snag like this and it sounds like those guys are gonna need some back up. Now cut the chatter and pack up. We’re moving.” Sparks replied as he hefted his rifle.

Normally Sparks used the M24 Sniper Weapon System when he was sent on a mission. This time however, he was dealing with ranges that were far outside of what the M24’s 7.62x51 MM M118LR round. So he had been outfitted with the most powerful sniper rifle in the Special Force’s inventory, the Barrett M107 Special Application Scoped Rifle. Using the Raufoss Mk 211 round, this weapon would discourage all but the most insane jihadist from continuing aggression against Coalition forces. But with an overall length of fifty-seven inches and a loaded weight of over thirty pounds, it was very unwieldy.

Finally, Sikes had gathered his gear and was on their radio, informing the local ‘sheriff’ that they were moving to a new position and the approximate location of the friendly forces under fire.

Moving quickly yet carefully, Sparks and Sikes made their way across the ridgeline trying to find an angle to provide support to the convoy below.

After nearly half an hour of scrambling over the rocky terrain, the sniper team finally found a good firing position.

“Warlock, you know that we don’t have time to set up a proper range card.” Sikes said as he set up his spotter’s optic.

“I know Jazz, just do what ya can and improvise as necessary.” Sparks replied as he snapped the bipod open on his rifle and put it into position onto of a small boulder.

“So in other words you’re going to do your thing.” Sikes replied.

“Eeyup. Not to much of a choice in this situation.” Sparks replied as he slowed his breathing and began to calm his racing pulse.

When Sparks was in his advanced training to join the Special Forces, it was discovered that he had a real talent for the sniper rifle. When he was training with the precision rifles, he would visualize the track that the round would take as it traveled to his target. Nine times out of ten, his round would hit the target right where he was wanting it to go.

His buddies that he was training with started calling him the Warlock due to his almost magic touch with the rifle. The name stuck when he graduated Sniper School and transitioned to his current unit, Bravo Company, 4th Battalion (Airborne), 5th Special Forces Group at Fort Campbell, Kentucky. There, due to the losses early on in the war, retirement of the older members of the unit, and through his capabilities as a soldier, he quickly climbed the ladder to his current rank.

This was not anywhere on Jason Sparks’s mind as he surveyed the valley below for the insurgents that were attacking his fellow soldiers down below.

“Come on! Where are you bastards hiding?” He thought as he scanned the area. “There ya are ya goatfucker.” He thought as he spotted one of the insurgents as he moved out of cover.

“Hey Jazz! I’m going hot!” Sparks called out as he made the adjustments on his optic for the range and elevation. Taking a deep breath and letting it out, he saw the track of the round start to form in front of him.

“Needs to be about two ticks to the left and one up to compensate for the wind” Sparks thought as he moved his optic to line up the shot he wanted. “Perfect. Time to let the bastards know what the hell they’re up against.” With one final exhale, Sparks let loose the round from the heavy rifle.

Less than a second later, his target was chum.

“Give me something ta shoot Jazz!” Sparks called out as he swept the mountain side for more targets.

Before Sikes could callout any enemy, there was a dull thump that was shortly followed by a high pitched whistle.

“Hold your position! Less chance of running into the damn things on the way down!” Sparks called out as he saw Sikes flinch at the sound of the whistle.

“Yes sir! Got the mortar team almost straight across from us, about a hundred feet higher elevation!” Sikes called out as the mortar fell short and struck the mountainside a couple of hundred feet below their firing point.

“Searching for ‘em!” Sparks called out as he center his rifle and began to look up the mountain in front of him. “Got ‘em!” He called out as he spotted the mortar team just as they lobbed another round towards their position.

“Must have spotted us as we moved into position and spent that time making adjustments to hit us. They haven’t gotten us dialed in yet, so we have time.” Sparks thought as he adjusted his optic for the height difference.

Suddenly the next round exploded less than two hundred feet behind them, showering them with dust and debris.

“Anytime now Warlock!” Sikes called out as he prepared his M4A1 Carbine to provide support for his partner.

“Almost, almost, got it. Sending it.” Sparks replied just as another mortar was launched.

Time seemed to slow for Sparks as he pulled the trigger, sending another round downrange. Through what could only later be attributed to some kind of divine intervention, his round struck the mortar round that was being loaded just as the loader removed his hands from the round, causing it to detonate, killing all four insurgents that were in the position.

Unfortunately, the round that had been launched previously struck about fifty feet behind their position, peppering the two soldiers with shrapnel.

For any main line soldier, this would only be a worry if a piece of that shrapnel struck their unprotected arms, legs, or face due to the body armour and helmets that were worn. But for Sparks and Sikes, they wore minimal body armour that could barely be called a flak jacket with no ballistic plates as they would impair movement and make getting into a prone firing position and holding it for hours unbearable. Even the thick ghillie suits that they wore to break up their silhouettes afforded them little protection.

It was due to luck and positioning that Sikes was spared serious injury. Sparks on the other hand was not so fortunate.

He could feel a burning sensation in at least a dozen places on his left side and back where the shrapnel had pierced the vest he wore. Grunting in pain, he held onto his rifle and pushed himself back up to continue supporting the unit below.

“Call for dust off! The area should be secure by the time they get here!” Sparks called out as he took aim and fired again on the insurgents down below.

Sikes shook himself out of his daze and began to call for medevac to their position, and after getting confirmation that help was on the way, with numerous helicopters heading to evacuation the troops down in the valley, he began to assess what he could of his team leader’s injuries as the big rifle barked again and again, causing the volume of fire coming from the opposite side of the valley to slack off even more.

The defenders on the ground were able to press the advantage as he fired his tenth and final round in the magazine, the bolt locking open on the rifle as smoke rose from the breech.

Thankfully, one of the nearest helicopters was one that belonged to the Nightstalkers, a unit whose express purpose was to insert and extract the Special Forces teams that they were attached to.

Sparks began to assist Sikes in bandaging his wounds enough to control the bleeding just before the helo began to circle their position, the door gunners searching for any hostile forces with rocket launchers that wished to score an easy kill of a Blackhawk on the ground.

Sikes and Sparks began to grab their gear in preparation to get out of the hell hole they were in. Sand and loose debris began to get kicked up as the helo moved to land.

Once it touched down, two other members of their squad ran over to them and carried the beleaguered snipers to the helo.

Sparks was laid down on the floor of the aircraft as the team medic began to assess his injuries.

The rhythmic thumping of the rotor blades began to fade as his vision dimmed to black, the last sight he saw was the medic yelling something at him.

Author's Note

Alright and there is chapter two. Now, before anyone starts to nitpick the details, most of the specific information on the weapons and the unit were looked up by me. I was in the Air Force so I know next to nothing about how the Army, and the Special Forces units in particular, operate. Keep in mind that this is going to be the one and only time that this type of situation is going to occur in this story. If anyone cares to make any suggestions, I will evaluate them and if they help the chapter, I might make some changes, but I am happy with how I did this. Also the next chapter is when things start to come together.